[—Let us begin this final journey together.]
…
…
The concepts of time and space have been profound enigmas since humanity's dawn.
Countless souls have spent lifetimes unraveling their mysteries. Their truths span philosophy, science, and realms beyond comprehension.
From ancient times, mages, novelists, scientists, and otherworldly beings have sought to grasp the philosophies within these terms and uncover their secrets. Some exceptional beings may have understood parts, but the sleeping beauty, King Arthur, Artoria Pendragon, who cast her thoughts to the future, witnessing countless events, was not among them.
It was a journey spanning nearly fifteen hundred years.
Her body remained in Britannia, but her mind and spirit arrived in Japan, fifteen hundred years later. Awakening from her sunken dream, she slowly opened her weary eyes.
She awoke.
The king's spirit stirred.
Artoria's body returned to Britannia's clear skies, beside a flowing stream, on lush grass, far from her homeland's war-torn ruins.
"Ugh…"
Artoria sat up, clutching her head, feeling a throbbing pain. She'd just had a vivid dream.
In it, she met fascinating people and clashed with kings and heroes from different eras.
And, of course, a certain infuriating Master.
Yet she was fortunate. A remarkable youth became her second spiritual mentor, guiding her through actions, helping her understand much, and suggesting she restart her life—leave Britannia, explore the world. Her spirit, heeding his advice, returned to her era.
Artoria stood, her blue-and-white dress stained with blood—traitors' blood, covering half her body. Her slowly opening eyes, blurred by blood from her forehead, saw red, but her left eye remained clear, taking in her surroundings.
Her right forehead bore a grievous wound from Mordred's sword, slicing her helm and nearly fatal—a wound that could've killed her.
Naturally, the rebel Mordred, pierced by her holy lance, had her chest and organs obliterated, like when she slew the white dragon Vortigern. Lifeless, Mordred was buried in that broken kingdom.
Was this… far from Britannia?
With her good eye, Artoria gazed at the sunlit, warm forest and greenery, so unlike the war-torn land. She recalled where she was.
"—King!!"
As her thoughts cleared post-awakening, a familiar, joyous voice called her.
"This is…"
She turned toward the stream, seeing a figure often mistaken for a woman, with strikingly handsome features and silver-gray hair, rushing toward her with anxious joy.
"—King, you're awake!!"
The silver-gray knight ran at full speed, grasping Artoria's hand, tears in his beautiful eyes, his voice trembling.
His face filled Artoria's vision—tears at his eyes, joy and sorrow on his face.
He rejoiced at the king's revival, mourned her losses.
These conflicting emotions blended perfectly, appearing natural.
"Bedivere…"
Seeing the one-armed silver-gray knight again, Artoria smiled, softly calling his name.
Her thoughts drifted to the Round Table days, fighting alongside Bedivere and other knights, recalling his first pledge of loyalty. Now…
Was he the one to stay with her to the end?
"King, you're awake."
Seeing Artoria rouse after three days and nights, Bedivere's joy was uncontainable. He offered his water skin, urging her to drink.
"Thank you, Bedivere."
Taking the water, Artoria smiled warmly at the knight.
But the next moment, seeing her face, Bedivere froze.
"King… you smiled?"
As Arthur's aide, Bedivere knew the immense pressure and duty she bore. She hid her identity, projecting perfection to deter foreign threats and quell internal strife. Her burden was colossal, weighing on her frail frame. Even watching, Bedivere felt suffocated, let alone Artoria bearing it.
She rarely smiled, except in victory, and those were forced to ease her knights' worries.
Yet now, after Britannia's fall and betrayal, when despair should've consumed her, she smiled.
This was the first time Bedivere saw her smile since leading her from Camlann's bloodied hill.
Tears welled in his eyes.
The king… she's moved on.
Seeing Artoria emerge from the kingdom's shadow, he felt profound joy.
"Did something happen, King?"
"I had a unique dream and met a remarkable person."
"What kind of dream? It must be wonderful…"
Gazing at Artoria's smile, Bedivere asked with concern.
"No… it wasn't."
Her eyes grew wistful, recalling Roy's war stomp on her face and his words tearing her dreams apart. She touched her cheek, pensive.
"It was painful, but profoundly real."
Her body ached—eyes, chest, forehead, all bearing fatal wounds. After this Grail War, she wasn't sure if these injuries were from Camlann or proof of her time there. It was strange, but…
"Sir Bedivere, set the dream aside. I have a task for you."
"—Yes, King!!"
Hearing her command, the knight knelt, ready as always.
"Fetch my holy lance, Sir Bedivere."
Mentioning the lance, Artoria's expression turned melancholic.
It was planted mere meters away, but her body, racked with pain and barely standing, couldn't retrieve it.
"As you command."
Obeying, the knight carefully returned the lance that slew Vortigern, imbued with immense power and thirteen seals, to his king.
The lance wasn't just a weapon—it was a sacred relic, the Anchor of the Stars, stitching the human world to the Reverse Side of the World.
"Thank you."
Taking the lance, Artoria used it as a crutch to stand steadily. With the holy sword and lance, her body healed rapidly, even her forehead's wound fading.
While recovering, she smiled at Bedivere, sharing her recent dream.
Artoria spoke earnestly, Bedivere listened intently.
She described a future world, unlike their era, and remarkable kings from different times.
The ancient King of Heroes, the bold King of Conquerors, the Land of Shadows' queen across the shore, and the legendary hero Fionn, known from bards' tales.
These tales enthralled Bedivere.
Hearing the king fought Roy Crowley and was subdued, he chuckled—not mockingly, but with genuine warmth.
He admired and thanked the youth, wise as Merlin, who helped the king accept reality and sit here, sharing her tale.
Roy Crowley.
Bedivere memorized the name, vowing to remember this debt. All Round Table knights owed this sage a great favor.
As the story unfolded, Artoria's body tingled, her dimming eye regaining the world's colors.
She saw the world clearly and Bedivere listening quietly.
Artoria smiled, knowing her time was near.
"—Sir Bedivere."
She called softly.
"King—!!"
The knight knelt again.
"Your body… Hm?!"
Seeing Artoria stretch under the sunlight, Bedivere tensed, fearing her wounds would worsen.
"No need to worry, Sir Bedivere. The lance and sword will heal me."
"I see…"
The knight relaxed.
"You're truly reliable, Sir Bedivere, staying with me to the end."
Artoria smiled at the knight, her words filled with emotion.
After all, the vast Round Table was now just her and Bedivere.
Her words left him at a loss.
Feeling the lance's power, Artoria continued, "I have one final command for you."
"Speak, and I, Bedivere, will brave any peril."
"No need for formality, Bedivere."
Seeing his tense face, Artoria shook her head, handing him the holy sword.
"Return the sword. Cross this forest, this plain, through cursed lands, to Britannia's depths, to the lake. Return it to its true owner, Vivian, the Lady of the Lake."
"Know this is my final command as King Arthur."
She recalled reuniting with Roy because of the sword and scabbard, and Merlin's past instruction.
She was the sword's user, not its owner. When no longer needed or worthy, she must return it.
Now was that moment.
"King, but your body?"
Hearing of the sword's return, Bedivere's eyes widened in confusion and reluctance.
"Fear not, Sir Bedivere. Returning the sword doesn't mean my death. The lance will sustain me, granting rebirth."
Caressing the lance, Artoria prepared to shed her title as Britannia's king, living anew as the goddess Rhongomyniad, leaving this land that no longer needed her.
It would be a long process, bound to the lance, but she didn't mind. She wanted only to travel, as Roy suggested, and meet him again someday.
She had no other attachments.
"But… King, I…"
Seeing Artoria's resolved gaze, Bedivere still couldn't leave.
This made Artoria laugh and cry. She knew he feared she'd abandon him.
To ease her last knight, she smiled and altered her command.
"Rest assured, Sir Bedivere. I'm not going anywhere, nor will I abandon you, my loyal knight."
"If you're worried, find me a horse. I can't travel far now. Lead the horse, guide me to return the sword. It'll be slower, but we'll walk this land of Arthur again."
"Really? Yes—!!"
Her new command cleared Bedivere's worries like a breeze after rain. His face lit with genuine joy, excitement, and relief.
As a knight guarding Britannia, witnessing its ruin cut like a knife, tempting him to end his life. But his king needed him, so he endured. Now, seeing her emerge from despair to start anew, his heart swelled with indescribable joy.
The king had moved on.
He could accompany her on life's final journey.
What could be more thrilling for a knight? What reward more gratifying? He had no regrets.
The silver-gray knight soon found a fine white steed in the forest, as if it anticipated his arrival, lowering itself to follow him to Artoria.
"Thank you, horse."
With Bedivere's excited gaze, Artoria, holding the lance, mounted the steed.
The reborn king rode across Britannia's land, guided slowly by the silver-gray knight toward the ideal realm.
This time, Bedivere harbored no hesitation, no thoughts of hiding the sword to protect her life. He was immersed in the joy of traveling with his king.
She no longer needed the sword, no longer Britannia's king, beginning her own life and journey. He'd shift from knight to companion, walking her path.
What reward could be more fulfilling?
Even without her crown, Bedivere swore eternal loyalty to the girl on horseback, never betraying, never letting enemies harm her.
Though no longer the King of Knights, she remained his recognized king.
No matter the years or era, this would never change.
The two, with one horse, journeyed across Britannia, crossing plains, battlefields, forests, and the broken kingdom, until countless days and nights led them to the legendary lake. The sword was cast in, as promised, rippling the water, vanishing from sight.
Artoria gazed at the ended Britannia, the departed Arthur, a smile on her lips.
"Roy Crowley, we'll meet again, won't we?"
She looked to the sky, the future vivid before her.
"Yes, we will."
"You promised to cook for me again. Burgers were delicious."
The king whispered the unforgettable name, gazing at the sunset with her truest smile.
"King, it's time to start our journey."
After a time, the knight's voice drew her back. He'd found a willing black horse in the forest depths, leading it to her, eyes brimming with excitement.
"You're getting excited, Sir Bedivere."
Artoria shook her head. "But 'King' is past. Arthur and the King of Knights are gone. Now, there's only Artoria."
"Then I'll be Lucius—Light's Arm. I'll be your arm in place of the sword."
"You're thoughtful."
"So… Lady Artoria, where to first?"
Bedivere nearly called her 'King' but caught her stern gaze and corrected himself.
"Where… Let's start with Rome, then Babylon, Egypt, Greece, the Middle East, and Japan. After traveling these lands, we'll return to Britannia to write our story."
"It'll be a long journey. Are you ready, Bedivere—no, Lucius?"
"Of course, I can't wait."
Thus—
Under the sunset's glow, the silver-gray knight and reborn king began their final journey somewhere in the world.
In a garden within the Reverse Side of the World, the Magus of Flower, long awaiting this moment, smiled genuinely.
"Congratulations, Artoria. Your life has truly changed."
"And I seem to have gained something I've long awaited. Is this joy?"
Merlin murmured, touching his chin, seeing his heartfelt smile in the mirror, feeling a wondrous emotion unlike before.
"So… this is the happiness I've sought? This surging feeling is intoxicating…"
"What a beautiful story. It's been a while."
***
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